


a lamb & its sentience

by oiyiku



Category: Over the Garden Wall (Cartoon & Comics)
Genre: F/F, F/M, M/M, Multi, but! if people want me to change it to gender neutral i definitely will!, so i went for it lol., the reader uses she/her pronouns, this is all pretty self-indulgent
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-10-06
Updated: 2019-10-06
Packaged: 2020-11-26 07:54:14
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,386
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20926739
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/oiyiku/pseuds/oiyiku
Summary: "we bleed to know we're alive."his nose was tilted downwards, eyes flitting to-and-fro with each line. this weird guy, talesun lane's one and only wirt, was currently reciting off lines from his creative writing notebook.you'd usually be doodling while your peers rambled, abstract faces dancing from line to line. but his words were so cheesily poetic that it was hard not to observe.his head momentarily lifted to glance at the class. specifically, at the 'lamb' he'd seen from across the street; he hoped his words were enough to catch your attention.they absolutely were.





	1. roman tomatoes

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> god must hate me if he let me fall in love with one of his angels,

".. and they didn't even notify their clientele! kevin should have retired years ago, but i won't be lying if i said it was a surprise! i don't even know where to access my records and that dentistry is practically his second home- (name), are you there?"

you stopped tapping on the leather-clad side of (friend)'s family van. they opted to drive you back to harvestvale after visiting your old hometown. the previous night was spent blasting obscure bands through their speakers & binge-eating three full bags of cheetos, which, much to your own dismay, would probably be the last night like it for a long time.

you had moved prior to the visit a few months ago, in may, abruptly cutting off your social life only to spend it renovating and helping the neighbor with his vegetable garden. you couldn't possibly muster up the guts to tell him his roman tomatoes were shocked, so you let the guy get paranoid over pests. otherwise, school was coming & that was about the only thing you had to look forward to.

during the car ride back, (friend)'s car grew humid, and a halo of gnats surrounded you. didn't help that she had a bag full of snacks open and about. probably happened to be their origin.

"have you started talking to some people yet?" her words cut your thoughts off and pulled you back after drifting. you'd raise a brow in question, clearly confused. she lifted a hot cheeto to her lips and spoke again. "you know, like residents. neighbors. future classmates. potential datemates."

you chuckled and reeled back, thinking of something adequate to respond with so she wouldn't press on. "no, no. not yet. unless you count that fucking crazy gardener and his gypsy wife."

she seemed content with that response and went back to scrolling through instagram.

you let out a silent but deep sigh, moreso a strained breath, as streets flew by. 'talesun lane', read the chalkboard-green streetsign that pivoted with the car. this was your new street. a foreign landscape. alien territory you dreaded to call-

"..home, (name.)" your friend's voice once again pulled you out of your troublesome thoughts. you blinked and reached into the floorboard for you bag while her parents fussed in the front seat.

("it's clearly REE-se's peanut butter cups." "no, the commercial guy's pronunciation sounds like ree-SIZ." "yeah? well you sound like you're having a stroke.")

out of nowhere, right as you drew in a breath to bid goodbye, your friend lightly but hurriedly tapped your arm and began frantically pointing out your window. she had a no-good shit-eating grin on her face, so you looked to see what was so urgent.

she was beckoning to the house kiddycorner to yours, adorned with tan paneling & a darker porch/veranda. but she wasn't concerned about the architecture, but rather the guy standing outside.

he had a very.. lanky stature. kind of swan-ish and awkward, but charming nonetheless. his hair was a pale brown, a bit dusty, and although it was still technically summer weather, his cheeks were tinted. but you were never that good with temperature tolerance, so you couldn't blame the guy.

he looked young, maybe 15 or 16, but. well. you had to admit, he was attractive. graceful, but that might just be a stretch.

"i swear, if you don't talk to that dude by the first day of school, i'm gonna have to drive up here and fight you. i don't even have a license."

waterlogged floorboards creak below your feet. your parents were off somewhere in town, getting memberships and accounts and such. they were vague as ever about it. today was monday- tomorrow would be the first day of school.

summer was supposed to be good. it was supposed to be spent in cornfield mazes with your old friends, or wandering old parking lots at sunset, or.. anywhere but here. it's actually kind of sad, you won't lie. but it's not like there's anyone to tell that to.

you had only two more summers of being in school, which was surreal to think about. sophomore year will be worse than the last & you knew that for sure.

you reached the front door and swat a gnat away from your face. your feet pace over wood, pebbles, concrete, dirt, then grass. the faint scent of burning leaves whisks through the air and you grimace. (which, despite it being glorified in literature, isn't that pleasant of a smell. you guess that since you're not technically within city limits, people can burn whatever they want and get off the hook with it.)

you didn't really know where you were heading but eventually you came to your senses. you were just across the street from the guy from earlier. he was sitting in the grass, patting the down damp brown leaves around him. he must not be an outside person. you mustered up a grin at the little boy a few meters away, dancing with a handful of mentioned leaves before hurling them at the older boy. not many made it to him, stopping midair to flutter down, but some managed to land on- was that a book? yeah, that's a book.

the older book-reading swan-necked boy shook his head, not unlike a dog, and suddenly glanced up to meet eyes with you. caught off guard, you dipped your head & waved. god, you got so distant that you didn't realize how you'd become the neighborhood spectator- stalker might be a bit more fitting.

he fidgeted for a moment before standing & brushing off any clinging leaves. the littler boy giggled and sprinted over- you could hear the worry in book boy's voice as he chased him.

now, you had two kids in front of you, both of which you've lived beside for weeks but never interacted with. how Pleasant™.

before you could properly get anything out of your mouth, the little boy began to chatter. "my name's greg and that's my brother and your shoes are cool!! i wanted some like it but my mom said they were for sports and i only do baseball. did you know that the soles of your shoes aren't actually ghosts? that's a ro-" tall book boy restrained greg and began laughing nervously.

he furrowed his brows and ushered his brother(?) to the side. "gosh, i'm sorry, ma'am. he gets hyper when someone new comes by." such manners.

"it's not a worry. you should see my parents. our paper boy was invited to a bonfire within the time it took him to give us the news," you chimed, forcing out a voice.

he hesitated, an awkward but content smile upon his face. greg struggled beside him. "yes, parents can be like that." his eyelashes fanned over his face like a bird's wing. dear lord. "excuse me for asking, but you live right over there, right? when did you move?"

"you can drop the formalities, really. and yeah. we just settled in but we came here a few weeks ago." you didn't know what to do with your hands so you settled with keeping them in your jean pockets. he didn't seem to have an idea either, and insisted on folding them in front of him like a pastor would. his left hand wrapped around the other, his thumb between the index & middle. you assumed it was out of habit.

"hah, yeah. uhm. i'm wirt walter, i don't think loudmouth here said that yet." they bickered quietly about something for a moment before returning the focus onto you. "what about you?"

you kicked a dandelion sprouting from between the sidewalk cracks and let out another deep breath. "i'm (name) and i don’t want to live here. pleased to meet you."

after a bit of banter on the sidewalk, wirt beckoned you inside for tea. he must have regretted it, since that's not a common invitation in a small american town like this, but he seemed to like it and you didn't really mind- his face was very easy to look at. you shot your family group chat a quick text before shutting off your phone and cramming it in your back pocket.

"you know," wirt started from the kitchen area, "i would start brewing this on the stove, but it's a lot easier in the microwave. do you like chai or lemongrass?"

with a huff, you sat down on the edge of their couch and replied. "whichever one you're having. i like your house, by the way. very comfy.

greg clambered beside you and started talking about halloween and middle school teachers. you're not sure what exactly the kid was saying, but he was truly a delight. you could practically see his face in a renaissance painting.

wirt stumbled in a few moments afterwards while you and greg were discussing the potholes littered along the street outside. he set down a well-worn mug and a slightly newer looking one in front of you, vintage-esque flowers decorating the handle.

"i'm assuming you'll be going to harvestvale high? you don't look eighteen and, well, there aren't that many other schools around here, unless you travel for half an hour."

your eyes honed in on the sweatshirt he was wearing. in bold text, you could faintly make out 'harvestvale hornets'. that shirt must have gone through a bit.

you took a moment to gather your thoughts before realizing he was awaiting a response. "oh! yes, yes i am. haha. sorry, i was dozing off." you lifted the mug of tea and sipped, steam pouring out the top. "must be this tea. chai calms people down, right?"

he began to ramble about delunquents at school & the effects of different teas, & before you knew it, your phone began vibrating. you pulled it from your pocket and noticed it was from the group chat. you sent back a reassuring text as wirt politely waited, greg having already turned on the tv to indulge in some cartoon.

"my (mom/dad) wants me home. uh, thanks for having me," you stood and gathered yourself before talking again. "see you tomorrow? at school?"

he nodded, something passing over his eyes that you couldn't quite read. "oh- sure, sure, yeah. ah, the bus stops a few houses down from yours, there are some younger kids. i- we can stop by when we're on our way. if that's alright."

you nodded & backtracked out, wandering down the steps and past the street yet again.


	2. light through a stained glass mosaic

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> heathen, i'm in your psyche,

"the day mother nature takes back what is hers is the day i'll finally be at peace. though we'll all be long gone by then, i happily await the day she swamps over our disgusting shopping malls & reclaims her home. the damage we've caused is irrefutable. we're not killing the earth- it's killing us. our mere existence has done enough as is, and who knows, karma may be just around the corner."

a few people clapped, unmotivated and out of sync. only nineteen bodies were in the classroom, a good third of them focused while the others were either sleeping or whispering among themselves. you were not one of them.

this beatrice girl was strange. strange in a good way; she had wispy ginger hair put up in a bun & a triumphant look on her long face. mrs. dubois stood, clapping alongside her students.

"very inspiring presentation, beatrice, dear!" she nodded, sitting back down with her clipboard in hand. "though it's a bit more morbid than i'd expect from a junior, i will say, you clearly have a motive in life." the student curtsied- who even did that anymore?- and made her way back to her seat.

a moment passed. the teacher adjusted her ludicrously tiny reading glasses, then surveyed the class. "mmk.. wirt walter? it's your turn, young man."

today, he was wearing an old pair of neatly-tucked jeans and a pale orange button up, almost reminiscent of an inner city intern. he sauntered up front, assignment in hand with rushed handwriting dancing across the lines. pages upon pages of poetry, you'd think, which would usually bother you.

for some reason, you weren't as pressed with him speaking.

"society is not much apart from being a shepherd, if you truly think about it. its people, the sheep. each one plays their own counterpart. let me elaborate."

your eyes make their way from the scribbled-over notebook paper to his face.

his head moved slowly, putting emphasis on certain words to perfect his art. "we depend on our leaders. we have numbers plastered to our sides, clueless & wandering until we eventually," his hand flew up, "pass on and get replaced. see, we're of no relevance unless it benefits someone else. despite man being corrupt and sinful, the sheep is a holy creature, full of sentimental value. yet the shepherd doesn't let his livestock reach its full potential, keeping it within a cobblestone barrier all its life."

your pencil falls beside your hand and you process his words.

"there have been many cases of a sheep being mauled by its natural predators. never does the flock end up making an exact, concise thought. they let these little lambs run off, and some coyote sees our wool suitable for lunch. the masses only exist to destroy itself, but the shepherd doesn't care. as long as he gets money from the slaughter, we could carve our horns and tell the world we're a pack of wolves for all they care."

someone drops their phone, but you don't bother to look. mrs. dubois is absolutely enraptured by his words. his lanky legs leaned to the side.

"we bleed to know we're alive."

his nose was tilted downwards, eyes flitting to-and-fro with each line. this weird guy, talesun lane's one and only wirt, was currently reciting off lines from his creative writings notebook.

you'd usually be doodling while your peers rambled, abstract faces dancing from line to line. but his words were so cheesily poetic that it was hard not to observe.

his head momentarily lifted to glance at the class. specifically, at the 'lamb' he'd seen from across the street; he hoped his words were enough to catch your attention. they absolutely were.

you grinned as wirt lowered the essay, giving him an enthusiastic thumbs-up. the teacher clapped as she always did. "oh, mr. walter," she crooned. "your extended metaphors are simply darling. our world is changing and your lyricism is a window.. er, a window to this harsh reality we live in."

he curtly nodded, hands in the same position as they always were; two moles sat beside each other on his collar bone, though you're sure nobody else could see.

someone bumped your elbow with theirs, startling you out of your trance. it was beatrice- mother nature girl. splatters of freckles decorated her cheeks and bristled as she spoke, directly & purposefully.

"you must be on a damn good sugarhigh," she cooed.

her pencil tapped against her thigh. your eyebrow raised a noticeable amount. "why do you say that?"

the ginger chuckled to herself and faced the front of the class. "well, you've been eating up that eyecandy there for the past five minutes." beatrice gestured towards wirt.

you stammered, feeling pin-prickles on the back of your neck. how embarrassing. "no- no, no, i just, i really like poetry! his.. his works are good! he's a creative guy, um.." your words weren't working. she saw right through your facade. ".. oh, god, was i really staring?"

she giggled into her hands. she had peachy acrylic nails with bird silhouettes.

there’s an old concession stand in the breezeway just a few yards off from the lunchroom. old cardboard boxes of candies lay empty off to the side, and a small wooden stool waits for you beside the door.

beatrice told you about this place in geometry while you sketched out two-point perspective cubes. your instincts told you to eat with the rest of the masses, but you genuinely liked the idea of being secluded. she said it was because wirt ate there, a wolf grin plastered to her face. she reminded you much of your old friend.

so, when twelve o’clock came around, you met up with beatrice and her girlfriend. the three of you strolled against the tide of body odor and poor fashion taste before arriving at the deli. the benefit of having a largely populated school was that the food was a bit better- still, the chicken was heavily processed, and the place reeked of cheese, but you placed an order that morning to beat the crowd.

less people came to the lunchroom than you expected. you realized this a bit back- most of the teens that bothered to come down and get food were making a swift exit outside onto the campus. others had signed out to pick up taco bell in droves.

you guess this room wouldn’t be as awkward as you expected.

“sara,” beatrice began, lazily bumping into her girlfriend, “do you think we have a chair in there for her?”

said girl pondered it for a second, flipping her phone around to check the time. “i don’t think so. we can kick jason out of the desk for a day, if you’d like.” her eyes met yours, questioning. 

“oh- no, i can sit on the floor,” you muttered back. “It’s really no stress.”

beatrice kicked her leg out and you suddenly grew very aware of how short you were beside her. “just share the countertop with wirt; the carpet in there is nasty.”

sara propped the door open with her ankle with a polka dot lunch box in hand. the ginger girl lead the way, casually & cooly. a sickly yellow light illuminated her acrylics as she flapped her hand in your direction.

“uptown kids, this is (name). she’s gonna eat with us because,” she wiggled an eyebrow. “she has no friends.”

you knew what she was implying, but didn’t show any sign of it.

“uhm, actually,” a blonde guy in the corner chimed in. he was draped over a navy lab chair, “we’re best friends. that’s my pencil buddy, right, (name)?” 

right. faraday, you remembered. he didn’t have a pencil for econ, so you gave him one. he told everyone how you ‘carried him’ the whole class. the guy has no filter & constantly reeks of weed, but that’s alright. at least he had good intentions.

sara let the door slow to a stop & it promptly closed. beatrice was already digging into a panini, letting her girlfriend share the other side of their starry night beanbag. they must have dragged that from the prop room- there’s a whole set of van gough furniture in there.

a trio of girls were picking from a bag of lays chips, chirping over different musicals like triplets of robins. you'd later learn their names; the overly-enthusiastic magdalena, the wittily brash ophelia, and the passionate(ly short) paisley clark.

then there was wirt; he was perched along the wall, leaning against chipped paint with a leg hanging down. his nose was shoved between the pages of a.. well, you couldn't quite make out the title. but it was a warm gray pamphlet-like book, and each time he shifted in his spot, a bit of gold lettering would glint in the light. you shrugged and propped yourself up across from him. swan-boy glanced up.

"_the kingdom of the cults_," you read, suddenly feeling too intrusive since you barely knew the guy. "uh, sorry. i'm just a bit curious, is all."

he tapped a pen- where did he get that?- against the edges of his cult study. "it's alright. not my typical read, but a decent one. mr. gardenia recommended it to me is all." wirt lifted his leg and sprawled them both out across the counter, right where food would usually be served to customers. "i have to respond to a passage in it by the end of today.. uh, would you, if it wouldn't happen to be a bother," he cleared his throat, comically raising a fist to exaggerate it, "maybe help me with it?"

you shrugged. "sure. i already have my geometry homework done, so," you took a brief pause to take a bite of your lunch. "hit me with your rough draft, fire away."

you felt like a sheep lost in the wrong kind of flock.


End file.
